To Make Him Proud
by BluePhyre
Summary: Sometimes, the villains of the story hurt, too. Sometimes, it's ill-deserved. Sometimes, they're only trying to make someone proud. Sometimes, they can feel pain, too. And sometimes, they just need a break from it all. Sometimes, the protagonist helps.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, the Dark Mark (although when I was bored today, I drew it on my arm. In sharpie. While listening to "Voldemort is Awesome" by Draco and the Malfoys, neither of which I own.) or anything else, really. Heh.**

Hey, this is my first Harry Potter fic. (Never a good sign to read on the AU of a fanfic, but, in my defense, I've written twenty-seven other stories, so it should balance out somehow.) I was originally going to put this in another HP fic I'm working on (a long Draco/Harry, teehee) but I decided it'd be a hard scene to fit in, and I was determined to write it, anyway. This is like... placed in a nonexistent time. After Voldemort and friends (TV show much?) are defeated, but while Harry and Draco are at school. Right, nonexistent. Unless you fit in the whole idea for my plot of the H/D fic I'm writing, but... Yeah. I'm not gonna talk about it (much) yet, since I take forever to put things up. I like to nearly finish them before I put them up. It's a safer bet, really. Anyway, it's not actually slash, unless you'd like it to be. I mean, you don't have to bloody_ squint_ to see it, but you can always take it a different way. Like... Harry being friendly. I just got this gist that Draco really didn't want to be a Death Eater. It was a combination of wanting to make his father proud (maybe because I'm listening to "Perfect," by Simple Plan, which I don't own, either), nto wanting to be murdered by Voldemort, and bringing respect back to the Malfoys, even if it's jsut with the wrong crowd. Well, pressure can be devastating, and Draco and Harry are gonna experience that firsthand. Teehee.

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Solemn, icy blue eyes met bright green in a stare that had never been shared before. Nothing of this magnitude, nothing of this overwhelming emotional stature. They were enemies, like fire and ice, like the dark and the light. They had always been, and they always would be. But at this moment, it didn't feel like that at all.

Harry Potter was staring down at Draco Malfoy, his eyes wide in disbelief and fear. The blonde was sprawled out on the ground, clutching his left arm and shuddering slightly. And, as he turned his gaze to his nemesis, it was clear than the Slytherin was crying.

"Draco," Harry murmured, using the Malfoy's first name in confusion as he looked down at the sight before him. There was blood everywhere, and its origin seemed to be the arm Draco was clutching tightly. He didn't know what to say. There was nothing _to_ say. He just… couldn't.

"It won't go away," the blonde said, though it came out as a painful sob, and he pointedly looked away from where Harry was standing over him. "No matter what I do, it won't go away." Before Harry could ask what he was talking about, Draco pulled back his hand, and, although blood was everywhere, the outline if the Dark Mark was visible on the blonde's arm, seemingly somewhere under all the blood.

"I tried rubbing it off first," Draco continued, his eyes lingering to the tattoo on his arm. "I'd leave one layer of skin left, and it'd still be there. Then, I tried removing it with magic." Harry grimaced. That hadn't worked, obviously. "And then I tried to cut it off. It comes back. It _always_ comes back."

And that, Harry assumed, was what Draco had been trying to do, for there was a dagger poised in the blonde's hands, and blood was running freely off the tip. There was also a good hunk of Malfoy's flesh missing, where the Dark Mark was still outlined in wispy tendrils of darkness. It had been cursed onto Malfoy, and he was doomed to have it forever.

"This isn't the first time," the blonde sobbed, vaguely wondering why he was showing this weakness to his enemy at all. "Every time, I end up getting healed, and it comes back. I know it won't go away, but to have it there on my arm… To get it off of me, if only just a moment, it hurts less than having it there always. I can't stand it, Potter. This is all I aspired to be… This mark. And I hate it."

Harry couldn't stay anything. He didn't know what it was like. He couldn't offer advice. He couldn't even try to comfort Malfoy, even if this sort of desperation on the blonde was killing him. This wasn't Draco. This was something much more pitiful… Or maybe it _was_ Draco; the Draco that had hid behind the inner walls of his mind for so long. Harry had always claimed that Malfoy was a creepy, foul bloke, but there was much more to it. He couldn't even imagine some of the things the blonde had to go through. There had to be a small, sad Draco somewhere under all that evilness and hair slime. This must have been it.

"It's what my father wanted," Draco continued the story, unable to convince himself to stop. Telling this to Potter, telling this to _anyone_ who didn't personally want to be a Death Eater themselves, felt so good. "He always wanted me to follow the Dark Lord, to bring honor to the Malfoy family name."

And then, a horrifying - in Harry's mind, because this scene was enough of a nightmare, for it couldn't be true at all - loud sob wracked Draco's body, and he buried his face in his knees, which were also drenched in blood.

The whole truth cam spilling out of the blonde's mouth next, so quietly that Harry wasn't even sure whether he imagined it or not. "I just want him to be proud of me."

At those words, Harry found himself sitting down beside Malfoy, ignoring that there was blood where he sat, that he was sitting on the floor of a very used bathroom, that he was currently comforting his arch nemesis, that, if anyone was to walk in on the two, it would be the most awkward happening of either of their lives. And even worse, he found himself draping his arm across Draco's shoulders, bringing him in like he usually did with Hermione when she was upset (over Ron).

"It's alright," Harry murmured to Malfoy, the first words he had found fitting in such an unfathomable circumstance. "Any father would be proud of you, following their wishes so adamantly. If I was Lucius, I'd be proud of you."

That sentence was very wrong, Harry noticed after muttering it. He was encouraging a Death Eater… Telling them it was _alright_. But still, that was what needed to be said, and, as long as he refused to both walk away and just watch his nemesis cry, this was the only option left open.

"I'm sorry," Draco murmured, bowing his head to hide his tears, even though it was too late to take them back. "I'm sorry I'm not strong, I'm sorry I'm not brave. I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"No one can be," Harry replied. Then, freeing himself from the awkward embrace with Draco - though, at the time, it hadn't been completely odd, since it had felt more like comforting a small, lost child than hugging his self-declared enemy - Harry stood up and glanced away. Draco was grateful for this. He needed to save _some_ face for when he was annoying Potter to no end later.

"Now," Harry said after an eternity of Draco quelling his sobs and a good bit of dabbing at the horrible gash in his arm, "let's get you to Madam Pomfrey to have that arm healed."

But, as Harry went to lead the way, Draco's hand reached out, latching onto the bottom of his robes like a clingy child.

"Not yet," he whispered, emotions void from his voice. "I don't want to get it back yet." Harry nodded and sat down beside Draco once more, sending a caring glance his way. Sometimes, even the bad guys needed a little help, he mused. Besides, this wouldn't change anything. Tomorrow, after Draco's arm was healed, they would go back to hating each other's guts. But for right now…

For right now, Harry was needed. And that was alright with him.

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Heh, I know, it was short. If I had made it part of my longer fic, I would've had to work it in better and stuff, so it'd be longer, but I guess like this it's fine. Poor Draco, being emo and all. And poor Harry. His bum is all bloody now. Eh.... No comment, actually. Please, review! That's the greatest magic of all! (Besides love. And Quiddich. Ask Harry.) And, so I'm guaranteed a review, accio, review! Eh, I guess it'd be helpful if I had my wand, wouldn't it? Fail...


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